Tapping
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
— "A Visit from St Nicholas" by Clement Clarke Moore
Kendrick Cunliffe opened his eyes and looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was 4:30 a.m. He did not have to get up for another half an hour, yet he doubted he could fall back to sleep.
Maybe I'll just rest here until the alarm goes off, he decided and closed his eyes.
That's when he first heard it: a series of taps and pauses that seemed to emanate from within the walls. He tried to ignore the noise but was not successful. Every time there was a pause, his body went on yellow alert, listening for the next tap. Hoping to escape the annoying sound, he got out of bed, put on his flannel robe and went downstairs.
"Look on the bright side," he told himself. "You'll have time for a second cup of coffee this morning."
As he stirred a teaspoon of sugar into his first cup, he heard the tapping again. To drown it out, he turned on the radio, which sat on the kitchen counter.
"It's the first day of December," the deejay announced. "The countdown to Christmas has officially begun."
To get his listeners in the holiday mood, the deejay played Perry Como's "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas."
"Could you turn that up?" Lexy asked as she descended the staircase. "I love that song."
After adjusting the volume of the radio, Kendrick put a fresh K-cup in the Keurig and took his wife's snowman coffee mug out of the cabinet.
"Thank you, sweetheart," she said with a pleasant smile.
Kendrick could not recall a single morning during their three years of marriage when his partner woke in a bad mood. Regardless of the weather, the time of day or the state of her health, she was always cheerful.
"We've got mice," he announced when he sat down opposite her at the kitchen table. "I heard one in the wall behind our bed."
"I'll go to the hardware store later and pick up a few of those humane mousetraps."
"Aren't you supposed to hold an open house today?"
"I moved it to Saturday. I don't know what my assistant was thinking when she scheduled it for a weekday. Most people go house-hunting on weekends."
His wife knew what she was talking about. That's why she was one of the most successful real estate agents in Vermont. If she were to put greater effort into her career, she might one day own her own agency. But Lexy had other priorities. First and foremost, there was her marriage. She was determined to be a good wife and soon, hopefully, a good mother.
"Besides, it's December," she added. "I'm going to decorate for Christmas."
"That ought to keep you busy all day," Kendrick predicted, knowing she would cover every available space in their restored farmhouse with garland, wreaths, holiday figurines and fake snow. "Do you want me to bring takeout home for dinner?"
"Would you? Thanks so much."
"What do you prefer? Pizza? Chinese? KFC?"
"You decide."
After finishing that rare second cup of coffee, Kendrick went upstairs where he showered, shaved and dressed for work—all the while trying to ignore what he believed was the sound of a mouse in the walls.
When he returned home that evening from his job as a loan officer for a Burlington bank, the living room, dining room and kitchen were transformed. At least ten sets of miniature lights were hung around the window frames, atop the fireplace mantel and around the staircase railings. There were even Christmas shower curtains, towels, rugs and soap dispensers in the bathrooms.
Since Lexy's Department 56 Dickens' Village was spread out on the dining room table, he put the pizza box on the kitchen counter.
"Food's here," he announced to his wife who was busy writing on a 22-by-17-inch calendar she had removed from her desk blotter.
"I'll be done in a minute."
"You've got that many appointments this month?" he asked, noticing she had written something down for every day from the second of December up to and including the twenty-fourth.
"No," she laughed. "This calendar has nothing to do with work. I'm using it to keep track of all our holiday activities."
"What holiday activities? We have my office Christmas party and yours. That's it."
"See! That's why I made this calendar, so you wouldn't forget everything else we have to do," Lexy explained, taping the calendar to the refrigerator door.
Kendrick looked over her shoulder at what she had written and frowned.
"Cookie-making party?" he read. "Tomorrow night?"
"I mentioned it three weeks ago. I'm having friends over, and we're going to make and exchange cookies."
"Tree lighting ceremony on the third? Kriskindlmarkt on the fourth? This is the first I'm hearing of all this."
"No, it's not. I told you about each and every event on this calendar. See how much you pay attention to me," she laughed. "Now, let's eat. I'm starving."
My wife and all her holiday plans. I wish it were January already! Kendrick thought, staring moodily at the sheet of paper on the refrigerator door.
As he took a bite of his pepperoni pizza, he heard the renewed sound of tapping and forgot about the busy schedule his wife had planned for the month.
"Did you get those mousetraps?" he asked.
"They're in the garage."
"Good. I'll put them out when we're done with dinner."
* * *
With his wife and her friends baking in the kitchen, Kendrick took refuge in the family room where he caught up with the remaining episodes of this season's American Horror Story on Hulu. The volume was turned up to drown out the Christmas carols playing in the kitchen. That was why he could not hear the tapping. After the women left, bringing home plastic containers filled with cookies, he turned off the TV and went upstairs.
"Mmm! Chocolate chip, my favorite!" he exclaimed, taking a bite of the still-warm cookie.
"Don't go eating them all up."
"Just one more," he promised. "I guess those traps take time to work. That mouse is still running around."
"I don't hear anything," Lexy said as she put away her cookie sheets.
"Stop what you're doing and listen."
Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
"You don't hear that?"
"No."
"My hearing must be better than yours."
For the second night in a row, Kendrick had to resort to taking melatonin to fall asleep only to wake up the following morning to the tapping noise in the walls.
I'll give the traps one more day. If they don't work, I'll call in an exterminator.
Thankfully, the tree-lighting ceremony held later that evening, lasted only an hour. The worst part of it was having to listen to the middle school band struggle through "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" and "O Tannenbaum." Sunday's event was a different matter. Lexy made plans not only to attend the Kriskindlemarkt but to go out to brunch as well.
To Kendrick's dismay, there were more than a hundred vendors at the Christmas market, selling everything from candy canes in a variety of flavors to personalized stockings. Since it was only the fourth of December and he had yet to reach his limit of endurance, he followed behind his wife like an obedient dog while she purchased German stollen, pfeffernusse, gingerbread cookies, ribbon candy, mincemeat tarts and a dulce de leche fruitcake.
"Who's going to eat all this stuff?" he asked when she added a tin of shortbread to the basket.
"It's not all for us. I'm giving most of it away as gifts. The fruitcake I'll keep for Christmas Eve."
Finally, once her husband's arms were loaded with shopping bags, Lexy conceded it was time to go home.
"You better store this food in the refrigerator," Kendrick suggested. "You don't want the mouse to get into it."
"Didn't you put out the traps?"
"Yes, but they obviously didn't do the trick. I can still hear him in the walls."
Lexy heard nothing out of the ordinary, but to be on the safe side, she put the cakes, candies and cookies out of harm's way. After closing the refrigerator door, she took a thick Magic Marker out of the junk drawer and drew a large "X" over the date.
"Only three weeks until Christmas!" she announced.
Three weeks. To her husband, it sounded more like a prison sentence than a holiday countdown.
* * *
As soon as he entered the house on Monday evening, Kendrick noticed the naked Christmas tree standing in front of the living room window. He quietly groaned, knowing what was in store for him that night.
"The pest control guy just left," Lexy announced over the Christmas carols playing on the radio.
"Good. I hope he took care of the problem."
"He told me he couldn't find any evidence of rodent infestation."
"All he had to do was open his ears and listen."
"He searched the attic, garage and cellar and couldn't find any droppings."
"That's because the damned things are inside the walls."
"On the chance that there really are mice, he not only sprayed with a rodent deterrent but also put poison pellets around places a mouse is likely to enter the house."
Confident that the tapping would cease to keep him awake at night as he struggled to get through the Christmas season, Kendrick sat down and enjoyed his meatloaf and mashed potatoes. He even managed to dredge up a little holiday cheer as he carried boxes of lights and ornaments down from the attic and stacked them in front of the eight-foot-tall artificial blue spruce.
Many people have a specific color scheme in mind when they decorate a tree, from the traditional red and green to the more modern black and white. Others pick ornaments that adhere to a certain theme. Some trees were decorated with Disney characters, gifts from the song "The Twelve Days of Christmas," Victorian St. Nicks or whimsical snowmen. Lexy's tree, however, had no rhyme or reason. Of the seven sets of lights that illuminated it, no two were the same, and the ornaments consisted of a wide variety of glass, plastic, wood, tin and even one made from dried macaroni.
Kendrick was hanging an Elvis Hallmark ornament next to a resin dachshund in an elf suit and his wife was in the kitchen making hot cocoa when there was a commercial break on the radio between Bobby Helms' "Jingle Bell Rock" and Burl Ives' "A Holly Jolly Christmas."
Tap. Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
"You're still alive, are you? Well, go ahead and enjoy your last night on Earth. Because soon enough there won't be a creature stirring—especially a mouse!"
That night, once again, he reached for the bottle of melatonin before going to bed.
Tuesday was pretty much a repeat of Monday, but instead of meatloaf, it was lasagna; and rather than trimming the tree, Lexy got her husband to decorate the exterior of the house. Pine wreaths were placed on every window that faced the street. Strands of lights were strung around the front door and lamppost, and a web of lights covered the shrubbery.
Despite the first day of winter being two weeks away, temperatures were already below freezing. Fortunately, both Wednesday's event (volunteering to help with the firemen's toy drive) and Thursday's (writing out Christmas cards) took place indoors.
The cold weather—like the humane traps and the poison pellets—had no effect on the mouse. In the quiet of the night, Kendrick could still hear the tapping inside the wall.
What the hell is it in there, Mighty Mouse? What do I have to do to get rid of it?
* * *
Monday morning, when Kendrick walked into the kitchen for his first shot of caffeine of the day, he glanced at the calendar taped to the refrigerator door. Eleven days were crossed off; thirteen remained. Somehow, he had made it through Friday's ugly sweater party—dressed in a green pullover embellished with gold tinsel and miniature lights powered by a computer chip—and Saturday's Secret Santa where he received a reindeer tie. Sunday's scheduled event was much more to his liking: a marathon of holiday movies with his in-laws. It was not that he enjoyed watching A Christmas Carol, It's a Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th Street for the umpteenth time, but he could relax and take a much-needed nap while his wife's attention was on the TV screen.
"What has she got planned for tonight?" he asked himself as he got the milk from the fridge.
On the calendar, under the date December 12, Lexy had written "wrap presents." Kendrick smiled. It was a task that would be done in their own home. His wife would normally expect him to help, but she would do the lion's share of the work.
"Why shouldn't she?" he reasoned. "She actually enjoys it!"
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Kendrick's smile quickly faded. The mouse was still alive!
"What's the matter?" Lexy asked when she came downstairs moments later. "You look like someone stole your puppy."
"It's that damned mouse again!"
"You're still hearing those tapping noises?"
"And you're still not hearing them?"
"The only thing I hear is the refrigerator running and the hall clock ticking. Maybe you ought to go see a doctor."
"You think I'm crazy?"
"No. I mean a medical doctor. Some people hear ringing in their ears. I believe the condition is called tinnitus. Perhaps the doctor can treat it."
Lexy's suggestion was not only possible; it was highly probable. It would explain why no one else could hear the sound, why the exterminator found no trace of rodent infestation and why neither the mousetraps nor the poison pellets failed to eliminate the problem.
"I'll call Dr. Vermeulen this morning and make an appointment."
Since the physician was an old friend of the family, he squeezed Kendrick in on Tuesday afternoon between patients.
"There are several conditions that play havoc with the human auditory system," Dr. Vermeulen explained. "People with tinnitus don't necessarily hear ringing. Some claim to hear tapping that they describe as sounding like Morse code."
"That's what I've been hearing," Kendrick said, relief flooding over him that he was not going insane.
"The diagnosis is an easy one. Finding the underlying cause for the condition is a different matter. The problem may be in your inner ear, your auditory nerve or even in your brain."
"Could it be a tumor?" the patient asked, his relief short-lived.
"Tumors can cause tinnitus, however, there are far less serious conditions we ought to consider first. For instance, a muscle spasm in your palate can create a clicking sound in your ear and so can an abnormality in your temporomandibular joint. Inflammation of the joint can affect the eardrum as well. Even something as simple as a common cold can disturb the Eustachian tube. It might just be a simple case of buildup of earwax or an infection in the middle ear."
"I don't have a cold. That's one thing we can rule out."
"I'm going to refer you to an audiologist. She's much more qualified to treat tinnitus than I am. She might be able to spot the problem right away."
Unlike Dr. Vermeulen, Dr. Olga Asplund was not an old family friend. She did, however, have an appointment open on December 19. Kendrick was optimistic that if he stopped at Rite Aid and bought another bottle of melatonin, he could make it through the intervening week without the annoying sound driving him crazy.
* * *
On Saturday morning, both Kendrick and his wife slept late. It had been an exhausting week. Tuesday night, the couple attended Lexy's Christmas party. On Wednesday, it was a holiday concert at the high school. Thursday, they went caroling with friends, and on Friday, they drove to Burlington for the bank's Christmas party.
"Maybe we should have gotten a hotel room last night," Lexy said, opening her eyes the following morning and seeing that it was after nine o'clock.
"Why? I didn't drink that much."
"No, but we have to go back to Burlington tonight. We should have just stayed there and come home tomorrow."
"Why are we going back to the city?"
"We've got tickets for The Nutcracker at the Flynn Center."
"Again? Haven't we seen it enough times already? Neither of us even likes ballet."
"It's a holiday tradition."
Kendrick found it odd that people complained about the commercialism associated with Christmas. As he saw it, it was all the time-honored holiday traditions and not commerce that was ruining the day.
There are just too many of them! And my wife insists on observing them all.
"How would you like pancakes for breakfast?" Lexy asked.
"Is that a bribe?"
"No, it's just my way of showing how much I love you."
"And what better way is there for me to reciprocate than to attend a ballet? he teased. "All right. Put chocolate chips in those pancakes, and you've got a deal."
Later that night, the Cunliffes emerged from the Flynn Center after Tchaikovsky's musical masterpiece came to an end to find a winter wonderland.
"It wasn't supposed to snow tonight," Kendrick complained.
"This is perfect! Now instead of taking a hayride tomorrow, we can take a sleigh ride instead!"
Despite the less-than-ideal road conditions, the couple made it safely home. No sooner did they enter the house, than the noise returned.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
"There goes my tinnitus acting up again."
"When do you see the audiologist?" Lexy asked.
"Monday afternoon, and I can't wait. I never really appreciated how beautiful silence was. Maybe that's why Simon and Garfunkel recorded a song about it."
"You do realize that the sound of silence is an oxymoron."
"So is Merry Christmas," he fired back.
"Scrooge! No, I take that back. Scrooge was able to be redeemed. I'm not so sure about you," his wife laughed.
The snow continued throughout the night. When Kendrick woke Sunday morning, there were more than eight inches on the ground.
"What do you want on your waffles?" Lexy called to him from the kitchen.
"Nutella and Skippy," he answered.
If he had to go out into the cold to clear the snow from the driveway, he would indulge in his love of peanut butter first. He continued to take solace in comfort foods by having macaroni and cheese for lunch and finishing his wife's homemade chocolate chip cookies before leaving for the sleigh ride.
Even though he was bundled up in a heavy winter jacket, a wool cap and gloves, Kendrick shivered in the open sleigh as Lexy and her friends sang "Jingle Bells," "Sleigh Ride" and "Over The River and Through the Woods."
I don't see what freezing my ass off in an antiquated form of transportation has to do with the birth of Christ, he thought. It would be warmer if we simply went to church.
But then, he was an agnostic and only went to church for weddings, christenings, funerals and—to please his wife—for Christmas Eve services.
When the evening ended with hot cocoa and roasted marshmallows beside a firepit, he was finally able to thaw out.
"Would you prefer a brandy instead of that cocoa?" his host asked. "It'll warm you up much faster."
"Thanks. I'm so cold, I can't feel my feet."
As his hand brought the brandy snifter up to his mouth, it abruptly stopped.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap. Tap. Tap.
It was the first time he heard the noise outside his house.
That proves it. It's definitely not a mouse.
* * *
Kendrick left work early on Monday afternoon. All morning long, his tinnitus had been bothering him. Whereas the tapping had been only an intermittent problem before, that day it had been nonstop. As he drove to Dr. Asplund's office, it increased in both volume and velocity.
"From the description of your symptoms, I would have to concur with Dr. Vermeulen that you suffer from tinnitus," Olga declared after speaking with the patient. "To discover the underlying cause, I'll have to give you an audiological exam. It will help us to determine the general state of your hearing. Then I'll conduct a movement test."
"What's that?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. I'll have you twist your neck, move your head, clench your jaw and perform a few other simple actions."
"I hear the sound most often when I'm lying motionless in bed, not when I'm physically active."
"The type of sound people hear most often indicates the cause. Those who hear a high-pitched ringing have usually been exposed to loud noises or suffer from a condition called acoustic neuroma whereas a low-pitched ringing might mean a blockage in the ear canal or Meniere's disease. People with high blood pressure hear humming. More often than not, clicking or tapping sounds are caused by muscle contractions."
Neither of Dr. Asplund's examinations revealed the cause of the patient's tinnitus. His hearing was as good if not better than that of other men of his age, and there seemed to be no problem with his muscles.
"What now?" Kendrick asked.
"You'll need an MRI."
"Will I have to go to the hospital?"
"No, you can have it done at the imaging center in Burlington. And I'll want to see your blood work. There are several labs in the area where you can just walk in and have your blood drawn. Why don't you take care of that in the next few days? Meanwhile, I'll schedule the MRI for the first week in January."
Kendrick tried not to show his disappointment. He had hoped to put an end to the tapping that day, but now he had to bear it for a few more weeks.
"How did your doctor's appointment go?" Lexy asked when he walked through the door and found his wife dressed for an evening out.
"I have to go for an MRI after New Year's," he replied dolefully. "What's for dinner?"
"I thought we'd stop and get something on the way to the theater."
With his mind on his doctor's appointment, he had forgotten that the community theater was presenting a performance of "A Christmas Carol" that evening. He was in no mood to sit through a play by a troupe of amateur actors, but he would never be able to talk his wife out of going.
"We can stop at the Juniper Inn," he suggested; if he had to go out, he would at least get a decent meal.
"Why not Alfredo's instead? We're going the Juniper tomorrow."
"We are?"
"Yes. Did you forget about their gingerbread house contest, too? They're announcing the winners and giving out the prizes tomorrow night."
As he followed his wife out of the house and down the driveway, he felt like Ebenezer Scrooge trailing behind the dark, shrouded figure of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.
"Lead on, Spirit," he mumbled with weary resignation.
* * *
Twenty dates were crossed off the calendar; only four remained. Kendrick, his vision bleary from lack of sleep, could not read what his wife had written on those days.
If I don't get a good night's sleep soon ....
"Good morning, sweetheart."
Why is she so damned cheerful all the time?
A terse, tight-lipped "morning," was the only reply he could manage.
"Are you excited about going snow tubing tonight?" Lexy asked as she removed a used K-Cup from the Keurig.
Her husband closed his eyes and shook his head. Racing down a snow-covered mountain in a rubber tube in single-digit temperatures was not his idea of a good time.
"I'm so glad we got all that snow the other night. I had originally scheduled a game of Christmas-Opoly with the Carlsons, but going snow tubing is so much better."
"I think I'm going to call off from work today," Kendrick announced.
"What? You're not getting the flu, are you?"
"I just need to get some sleep. I was awake most of the night—again. The melatonin just isn't working for me now."
"The holidays can be a bit draining," Lexy said.
"A bit draining? That's an understatement. It's like saying hell is a bit warm. Speaking of hell, what time are we going snow tubing tonight?"
"We have to be there at six o'clock, so I'll bring Subway sandwiches home for dinner."
Leaving half a cup of coffee on the kitchen table, he went upstairs to the bedroom and fell asleep. Utterly exhausted, not even the infernal tapping kept him awake. He was still sleeping soundly when his wife came home from work. There was a drawback to getting that much sleep during the day. It was to have a profound impact on his sleep cycle. That night, he lay in bed for hours, staring at the tiny bulb of his wife's snowman nightlight. The handful of melatonin he took failed to make him drowsy.
I'll stop at Rite Aid tomorrow and get something stronger.
He was still wide awake the following morning when his alarm went off.
* * *
"I can't believe that tomorrow is Christmas Eve already!" Lexy exclaimed as she crossed December 22 off her calendar. "The time went so fast!"
Kendrick, who had stood on Main Street for forty minutes in eight-degree temperature with a windchill of minus five to watch the town's annual Christmas parade, disagreed. As far as he was concerned, the days had not gone fast enough.
"Don't forget. We're going back to the Juniper Inn tonight," his wife announced as she dunked a snickerdoodle in her coffee.
"For dinner?"
"Not exactly. They're having a Christmas tea."
"I never touch the stuff," Kendrick said. "I'm strictly a coffee man."
"It's going to be a high tea. That means they'll have finger sandwiches, mini quiches, scones with clotted cream, quick bread, cookies and little pastries. And there will be Christmas music to entertain us while we eat."
"Oh, goody! Another evening of 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas' and 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.'"
"I hope that the audiologist can find out what's wrong with you. Honestly, you've been a real Grinch all season long."
"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to spoil things for you."
It was true. Marriage was a partnership, and Lexy usually put more into it than he did. Ordinarily, she asked for little in return. Was it so difficult for him to indulge her whims at Christmas?
"No need to apologize," she said, her smile as bright as ever. "I know you've been having problems with your ears. If you prefer, we can stay home tonight."
"No. We'll go. Who knows? I might even enjoy it."
* * *
On the morning of December 24, Lexy opened the last day of her advent calendar. Unlike Kendrick, she did not have to go to work. House-hunters rarely wanted to view properties on Christmas Eve.
"Are you working all day today?" she asked as she served him a dish of her homemade cranberry and cream cheese bread pudding for breakfast.
"The bank closes at three, but I might be able to sneak out early. I doubt there'll be any people rushing in to apply for a loan today."
"You might be surprised," his wife laughed. "Lots of people are going to need help paying for their holiday shopping."
Although she had a full day of cooking and baking ahead of her, Lexy took the time to enjoy breakfast with her husband who was in a good mood despite having gotten only an hour's sleep the night before.
"I'd better get going," Kendrick announced after finishing his second helping of bread pudding. "I don't want to be late for work if I plan on leaving early."
"Drive safely. They're calling for more snow today."
When he arrived at the bank, he found his fellow employees in full holiday mode. The women were dressed in shades of red and green, and the men wore Christmas ties.
"There are cupcakes in the lunchroom," the head teller told him as he turned on the light in his office.
"I had a big breakfast, but maybe I'll have a cupcake for lunch."
"If they last that long," the woman laughed and took her position behind the counter.
With no one coming in to apply for a loan, he spent the morning straightening his filing cabinets and catching up on overdue paperwork and correspondence.
The first text from Lexy came at 9:38: NEED RUM FOR EGGNOG. CAN YOU PICK UP A BOTTLE ON YOUR WAY HOME?
NO PROBLEM, he texted back.
The second came less than an hour later: RAN OUT OF SUGAR. CAN YOU STOP AT SHAW'S AND GET SOME?
Again, he agreed.
He received a third text at 12:05: CAN YOU ADD HEAVY CREAM TO YOUR LIST?
Didn't she just go grocery shopping yesterday? he wondered.
After sending a confirmation message, he headed for the lunchroom to get a cupcake, only to discover they were all gone.
"If you snooze, you lose," Germaine Leckey, the assistant bank manager teased.
"I really didn't need the calories anyway."
The two men sat down at a table with their brown bag lunches. Kendrick had tuna on rye; his boss had turkey on whole wheat topped with cranberry sauce.
"That is the last of the leftovers from Thanksgiving," Germaine announced.
"Is the turkey still good after all this time?"
"My wife stored it in the freezer. Speaking of freezers, did you see how hard it's snowing out?"
Since neither his office nor the lunchroom had a window, Kendrick was unaware of the weather.
"I thought the forecast was for flurries."
"They changed it to snow, sleet and freezing rain."
"Damn! I've got an hour commute plus I have to make two stops for my wife."
"You can't be too busy today," Germaine observed. "Why don't you leave now before the roads get really bad?"
"Good idea. I think I will."
The Subaru was already covered with snow, and Kendrick had to scrape ice off the windshield. Although the car had four-wheel drive—a necessity in Vermont—he frequently slid and at one point nearly wound up in a ditch.
He was halfway home when he got another text: ALMOST FORGOT. CAN YOU STOP AT THE FARM AND PICK UP CHESTNUTS?
Is she serious? he thought with irritation. The farm is eight miles out of the way.
I'LL SEE, he replied. ROADS ARE BAD.
Moments after pressing the send button, the car slid off the road and into a tree. Thankfully, he was not hurt and the car, though damaged, was drivable. However, the tinnitus, which had been barely noticeable all morning, returned with a vengeance.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Driving slowly and cautiously, Kendrick made it safely to the liquor store where he waited in line for twenty minutes to buy rum. When he returned to the parking lot, his car was covered with snow, and he had to scrape the windshield. He then went to Shaw's for the heavy cream and sugar and had to clear the snow off his vehicle once again.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
"To hell with the chestnuts," he cried angrily, his teeth chattering from the cold. "I'm going home!"
As he climbed the icy steps to his front door, he felt his foot go out from under him. He grabbed hold of the railing and stopped himself from falling, but in the process, he dropped the bottle of rum and it smashed on the cement stairs.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
"I'm home," he announced, as he limped toward the kitchen. "I'm afraid I had an accident—two, actually. The car slid into a tree, but I was able to drive it home."
"At least you weren't hurt. That's the important thing," Lexy said, not taking her eyes off the Bûche de Noël she was frosting. "What was the second accident?"
"I dropped the bottle of rum on the front steps."
His wife's head popped up, and she looked at him with horror-filled eyes.
"Please tell me it didn't break!"
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
"It did."
"But we need it for the eggnog!"
"I slid on the icy stairs. I could have fallen and broken my neck, and all you're worried about is the eggnog?" he cried.
"You should have been more careful!" Lexy said, in a rare moment of anger.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
"If you want rum so badly, go to the liquor store and get it yourself."
"Like I don't have enough to do already? And what about the chestnuts? Did you get them?"
"No, the roads are like a sheet of glass."
The stress from driving in bad weather coupled with the emotional turmoil of an argument with his wife made the tinnitus unbearable.
If I could just make it stop! he thought.
"Great. No eggnog. No chestnuts. Congratulations, Kendrick Cunliffe. You managed to ruin my Christmas."
TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP.
What had begun as an annoying sound on the morning of the first of December had now reached nightmarish proportions.
"That's it!" he shouted, sweeping his hand across the kitchen island and sending his wife's yule log tumbling to the floor. "I'm sick to death of all this Christmas shit!"
He left the kitchen, ran into the living room and began pulling down decorations.
"I've had it with your ugly sweaters, gingerbread houses, Christmas carols, parades and saccharin-sweet holiday romance movies."
Once all the garland and lights were torn down, he headed toward the eight-foot-tall decorated Spruce.
"Not the Christmas tree!" Lexy pleaded, putting herself between her husband and the artificial evergreen.
TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP.
* * *
"Where am I?" Kendrick asked when his mind cleared and he found himself in an unfamiliar environment.
Silence. The tapping was finally gone.
"This isn't my house."
He looked out the window to see palm trees and sunny skies.
"This isn't even Vermont!"
"It's California."
Kendrick turned at the sound of the unfamiliar female voice.
"Who are you?" he asked the middle-aged woman who sat at a desk in front of a laptop computer.
"My name is Sabine Stacey, and this is my house."
"What am I doing here?"
"You're here because you went off-script."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm a screenwriter. I've been working on the screenplay of a Christmas movie, and you were one of my two main characters."
"This is insane!"
"Not insane but definitely out-of-the-ordinary. I was writing a love story one day, and then—BAM!—all hell broke loose! You suddenly developed a mind and will of your own. No matter how hard I tried to rein you in, you fought back."
"So, you're telling me I'm not a real person."
"None of you are. Lexy, Dr. Vermeulen, Dr. Asplund, Germaine, the Carlsons—they're all figments of my imagination."
"But if I'm here, where are they?"
"The minor characters were never fully developed, and as for Lexy ...."
"What?"
"She's dead. You killed her. You beat her to death, to be exact."
"That's impossible. I never raised a hand to my wife. I love her!"
"That's what I imagined when I began my screenplay. But then, something changed. You became more disturbed as each day passed. Finally, on Christmas Eve, when I had planned for Lexy to tell you she was going to have a baby, you completely lost it. You killed her as she tried to prevent you from destroying the tree."
"If what you say is true, then can't you just rewrite the last scene?"
"No," Sabine replied. "I intend to do much better than that. I'm going to rewrite the entire script."
The screenwriter's hands momentarily hovered above the keyboard and then her fingers went to work.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
"That's it!" Kendrick cried. "That's the sound that's been driving me crazy. It's not tinnitus; it's your typing."
Sabine seemed not to hear him; she was temporarily lost in a world of her own making. Although she would incorporate several scenes from the original script into the new one, the finished product would be altogether different. It would no longer be a romantic, family-friendly, happily-ever-after Christmas story for Hallmark. Instead, it would be a tale of insanity, domestic violence and murder. She would try selling it to Netflix or Hulu first. If neither of them wanted it, she would try Lifetime.
"I suppose I ought to thank you, Mr. Cunliffe," she finally said to the weeping man who was slowly fading away before her eyes. "You've given me the inspiration to write something besides another—as you called it—'saccharin-sweet holiday romance movie.'"
Every year, Salem and I collaborate on a gingerbread house. I make them, and he eats them.
